


At the Fort

by silksieve



Category: Robin McKinley - Damar series
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2006, recipient:Genarti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-21
Updated: 2010-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silksieve/pseuds/silksieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is gone; Jack and Richard can only wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Fort

 

The horse pounded into the General Mundy, a hot swirl of sand in its wake. Jack Dedham looked up from his seat on the bench outside the barracks where he had been contemplating several conundrums and was surprised to see Dick Crewe dismount. The horse's eyes were wild, and foam ringed its mouth. Crewe gave it an absent-minded pat on the neck, and led it toward the stables. Jack unfolded himself from the bench and strolled unhurriedly after Crewe. 

"It's not like you to kill your horse on an afternoon ride, Crewe," Jack said as he drew nearer.

"Colonel Dedham. Sir." Crewe's body jerked in surprise. "Sir, I didn't see you there."

"So I gathered." Jack thought the horse's eyes were not unlike those of its rider's. "Your horse could use a cooling, perhaps."

Crewe looked with some surprise at the bay's heaving sides. Abashed, he gave the horse a firmer rub and murmured a few words of praise in its ear. Gathering the reins in one hand, he started leading the horse in a wide circle. Jack fell into step on the other side. "No luck?"

Crewe shook his head. "None."

Jack gave a sympathetic grimace. Crewe had reason enough to be out of sorts; his sister Harry had disappeared not a fortnight earlier. That she had disappeared in the night whose day had brought the Hillfolk king to the border was no small coincidence. Jack's close familiarity with Damar (or at least as much as any Homelander could have) had taught him not to discount coincidences, especially coincidences that included Hillfolk.

The Hillfolk were certainly a queer folk, but they were not given to violent gestures, and while certain _unexplainable_ events might occur in their presence, a direct threat they were not. Therefore, Jack had been no less shocked by Harry Crewe's disappearance than the rest of the Istan posting. While speculation was rife over the degree of Hillfolk involvement, with some of the more pessimistic souls whispering bloody murder, Jack was sure of two things: that the Hillfolk were entirely responsible for Harry's disappearance, and that she was safe and unharmed, although her current existence might be an uncomfortable one.

Which of course, did not lessen the worry her near and dear experienced. Jack had grown rather fond of girl himself; she was a bit of an odd duck, but charming and forthright. Crewe had grown practically useless in the time since her departure, either galloping out in a mad heat, or staring mindlessly into the east.

Jack glanced at the man now. "If you don't mind me saying so, Crewe, I believe your sister to be safe. She will return (or be returned as the case may be) in due time. It doesn't do you good to kill yourself and your mounts searching every other day. Perhaps you should consider going on an envoy to the south, let your mind off the current, er, state of affairs. Sir Charles would be pleased to you set you up. In any event, the lands out there are mysterious ones. We wouldn't want to lose you to excess exposure. The Hills have a way of swallowing those who get near."

"Like my sister?" Crewe smiled grimly.

"Sorry, lad. We all care for her, you know."

Crewe sighed. "Yes, I know. I just keep thinking, if I go out far enough, try hard enough, I'll see something to lead me to her." His gaze dropped to his sandy boots. "Heaven knows I haven't been a much of a protector til now. And in the strangest way, I don't feel threatened when I'm out there, and I haven't lost my way yet. I can feel a pull on me, but it's rather like a curiosity, or a longing, perhaps."

"Aye, I often feel the same. If I were a younger man, I would go as far as I could to see what I could see." Jack grinned. "Alas, responsibility is a firm taskmaster. As for the longing you feel, well, blood calls to blood, I suppose." 

Crewe reddened. "Sir!"

"Crewe, that you have Damarian blood is not a thing of which to be ashamed, despite your speech to me when you joined this company. Indeed, it may be exactly that which makes you such an asset here."

Crewe sighed, "Sir, if you knew what it was like back Home...although, since Harry, I do feel...sir, what if her blood is the reason for her disappearance?"

"Then she has less to fear; the Hillfolk do not harm their own."

"If that were true, then I should perhaps go immediately to beg the pardon of my foremother." Crewe smiled wryly and stroked the nose of the horse, who had stopped walking some time ago and stood patiently to be led back to oats and comfort. "I shall give some thought to your suggestion, Colonel."

***

Crewe did not give up searching for another month, but a fortnight later, he agreed to be duly sent off on the first of a series of diplomatic missions to the south. Gossip in Istan settled to a low murmur in the weeks after that, in spite of the fact that Mrs. Peterson saw fit to take both the Misses Peterson south to Ootang in the heart of Homeland settlement "for the waters," leaving the majority of the rank and file longing in their wake.

The general mood was certainly not improved when the first carcass appeared a short while later. It was a black mass that had been left near the gate of the fort. Tom Lloyd had dragged it in by hand on a canvas tarp; the horses refused to go near any wagon that held it. The barracks surgeon steadfastly declined to examine it. Jack Dedham had looked at the rotting body, which was undeniably inhuman despite appearances, and silently cursed the stubborn Homelander pride that forbade heeding any counsel but its own. He coolly ordered the men to burn the thing, but more carcasses kept appearing. Once, a violent splatter of blood had been discovered on the fort's walls on the northern side. Three desertions occurred the following day; the soldiers who remained were tense and apprehensive. Even Jack found himself hard-pressed to hold onto his patience. He wrote several deliberately worded letters to the Homeland Foreign Office, but received no reply. One morning, an uncommonly loud row at the gate of the fort brought Jack running from his quarters, fearing the worst. His shock at seeing a golden horse eighteen hands high in the midst of his yelling men was only surpassed by the shock at seeing the rider, whose bright hair flamed in the sunlight. He strode forward. "_Harry_," he said, and raised his arms.  



End file.
